It Was Always You
by saffroncremebrulee
Summary: The world may be cold to idealists, but Qrow found just enough hope in her face to keep believing a little longer. Slightly AU Qrow x Winter. Rated for language and violence.


**It Was Always You**

The world may be cold to idealists, but Qrow found just enough hope in her face to keep believing a little longer. Pre Season 1 Qrow x Winter. Rated for language and violence.

 **Disclaimer** : I do not own RWBY. This is a work of fanfiction for entertainment.

 **...**

He remembers the first time he committed her features to memory. They had _just_ said good-bye, but all he could see in the days that followed were her eyes. Clear, blue, and wide with the kind of innate optimism he wishes he still had. Beautiful eyes are like that- they stick with you, long after you've long forgotten everything else. Hers especially, and he would always remember them in this moment in the years that would follow- shining underneath layers of ailing moonlight, radiating against the not-so-tattered crimson of his clock. He wanted to hold this moment like he was holding his breath- _forever_ , if he could, and never let go.

Sure, he's always hated missions in Atlas, but this one was different. This one brought her, though he hadn't thought of it as such when it began. His first thought at this assignment had been a singular and condemning _damn_. Damn bureaucracy and damn it to hell. _Rules_ were not the end all be all of life, whatever Jimmy thought. _When_ Jimmy thought, that is. Which, in Qrow's opinion, was not nearly often enough, if at all. _Rules_ counted for shit out there in the real world. Grimm didn't care if you believed in karma or morality or whatever the hell Ironwood christened his doctrine of conduct. Grimm didn't give a shit about philosophy; their only mission was to _kill_ , destroy, and maim. Killing, as in slicing, dicing, and mincing humans like onions for monster soup. Those kinds of enemies have no honor, and hell if Qrow was going to let some pansy-ass respect for institutional procedures get in the way of surviving.

 _Fucking arbitrary._

That's what those stupid, fucking regulations are.

They were good for absolutely shit, too.

Actually, not even that. Shit could be useful, sometimes, if you were running low of fuel in the field.

But Qrow accepts the kids who believe in this kind of "fighting fairly for a better tomorrow" bullshit because of they were kids who didn't know any better. He had been idealistic, once, before life took that idealism and shoved it through every tear he could summon. It's been years since he's actually been around that type of wide-eyed, childish wonder. So long that he's not even sure what to do with them, because Jimmy had the abs-fucking-lutely _kind_ notion that team STRQ would be willing to train four idealistic idiots for a rescue mission.

Qrow's teammates responded...about as well as you'd expect. Raven didn't even bother to introduce herself. ("I'm _not_ here to baby-sit, asshole.") She took to monosyllabic replies whenever one of them spoke until they stopped trying. Compared to that, Taiyang was positively cordial, if a little surprised, because those kids were fucking eager to see the world. He took to introducing more realistic visions of adventuring- the loneliness, desperation, and fatigue- but the kids only asked more questions about how these conditions could be improved. Almost like they couldn't get enough of what was obviously a sanitized version of events...

Which was just as well for Qrow, considering that Tai's conversations kept them occupied. Qrow was sure his stories would have sent the novices crawling back to Jimmy in their perfectly creased suits. Whoever came up with this adventuring bullshit should be shot, preferably by a person or monster they wouldn't have ever expected whilst "adventuring" in some terrible hovel with limited indoor plumbing. At least Tai was trying to channel their enthusiasm into something other than the bleakness of the balding tree trunks and fallen leaves, though. Qrow supposed it saved himself the chore.

The airship had dropped them into the middle of fucking nowhere for the mission. As far as Qrow could tell, it was all classified, which meant amongst the mostly abandoned mountainous region west of Atlas. Fuel was scarce; they would have to tread through treacherous terrain to reach their destination on foot. Silence tightened around them like a menacing noose. Sleet fell noiselessly. The pipsqueaks seem to melt into the whitening landscape with every step. Slowly, the light of adventure was dimming, replaced by the bleak slog of boots trudging through watery slush. Just as well, because this wasn't some sort of cakewalk at the village fair. This was fucking _war_ , and the sooner Jimmy's special operatives understood that, the better.

Until then, they were just four more mouths to feed, a quartet of bright-eyed sacrifices marching towards a battlefield they've only seen in pretty illustrations and classroom blackboards.

Tonight, though, they're all huddled around the fire for warmth. The day had blasted chunks of ice across their sickeningly shiny uniforms, rendering them limp and spiritless. Summer had taken to drying them, along with their owners, by the flames. Qrow smiled a little as he watched from a safe, please-don't-talk-to-me distance. That was a very Summer-like thing to do, comforting the one that looked ready to cry first. Summer was the only one on team STRQ who actively encouraged fighting for such worthless things as heroism and sacrifice. The novices ate it up like dessert. _Ugh_. That's why Qrow moved a safe distance away, and why Tai and Raven volunteered to scour the perimeter by themselves, without help, thank you very much for volunteering but no thanks.

Qrow studied them curiously through the reflections flickering in the snow. He had always admired how the years strengthened Summer's resolve to fight. Would it be as kind to the pipsqueaks? A small, honest part of him hoped so; the larger, more realistic part of him knew that most of them probably wouldn't survive to that point to find out. That was the reality of war; not this sentimental bullshit that would get them through this night and the next one, if they were lucky.

He shook his head to scatter those thoughts.

Snow was falling again, blurring his vision. Now and then one of the figures around the fire flickered white and disappeared into nothingness before reappearing in a broken haze of colors. How in the world were they so optimistic after nearly being scalped and mauled by a small kingdom of Grimm during their first day in the field? Only _fools_ believed after almost dying several times in the span of an hour. _Fools_. That what they were. All four of them. Two girls. Two boys. All barely old enough to drink (not that he was in a mood to share his whiskey!) and all so fucking bright-eyed about Taking. On. Missions! Saving! The! World! Being Heroes! Dying in a blaze of glory!

 _Fools._

 _Fucking idealistic and sentimental fools._

They had yet to grasp that humans were were all migratory, peripatetic beings. Fucking clueless (willfully so, perhaps?) of the how cruel the world really was. Being a Hunter was not so much a glamorous life in adventuring as it was a lonely existence of struggling to win wars that never ended. Always one mission away from and one mission closer to death. Fucking _specialist_ or not, monsters- human and Grimm- they take pleasure in cutting you down to size. There wasn't any kind of honor or ideal in that, just survival, preferably with as much of yourself as you can save, as fast as you can, when you can.

As if to scatter that unpleasant train of thought, Summer chose this moment to open her bag. A crack of metal against metal. Suddenly, exclamations of happiness echoed through the nearly empty forest. Qrow knows that sound means it's _cookies in a tin,_ because, for a moment, the kids look less like the Hunters and Huntresses they've been training to be and more like children they actually are circling a fresh batch of treats for a playground rendezvous. That kind of innocence didn't belong in a middle of fucking war zone, especially not now, with chocolate running down the side of their faces, trying to make s'mores from military rations.

But the world is cruel despite the best intentions.

All too soon the continuous sleet obliterates what little warmth that remained. Raven and Tai return with their scouting report. It's delivered in clipped, urgent tones. Grimm congregating in the mountains ahead, more Grimm circling the village. Immediately, the chewing stops, and the only sound is the steady shuffling of chocolate-covered weapons and boots pounding towards the village with wisps of smoke emanating from every corner.

The eight of them- four veterans, four novices- move into a defensive ring around the charred cabins of what used to be small mountain-side town, now just a pile of burnt wood melting into sludge. The roofs are leaking snow and frost, the roads are cracked with bitterness and age. More than one makeshift defense point had already been smashed into bits of wood and bone. An inhuman cacophony of noises arose from the skies- even more Grimm, intent on erasing what few signs of life hiding in the wreckage.

Summer gestures and STRQ moves seamlessly. Each Hunter takes a newbie to defend a corner of the square. In the middle, the remaining villagers are huddled behind a makeshift hospital/warehouse/poorly defended fort. Summer takes the most scared-looking novice, a scrawny little thing with big, watery eyes and a quivering voice that steadied as Summer bent down to whisper in her ear. Taiyang chooses the redheaded boy in the group, a charming jokester with a crooked smile and a booming laugh. They weren't laughing as they marched purposefully towards their quadrant, though. Raven simply strides forward and a thin, straight-backed soldier scampered, slack-jawed, after her. That left Qrow with the only remaining candidate- a fucking _girl_ , eighteen at most, with the clearest cerulean eyes he's ever seen- who looked barely old enough to walk, let alone facing several packs of Grimm be out with a small steel gray sword that barely looked used, let alone battle-tested.

Well _fuck it all to hell and back_.

Qrow charges first because he's a veteran and because he doesn't want the girl to get hurt. Someone that young should be out dancing with boys (or girls, or both), not monsters. _That_ kind of optimism should be tucked safely away inside the well-defended perimeters of the kingdom, not on the outside with the slickness of blood and desperation permeating the ground. He may not believe in things like heroism anymore, but he wasn't going to let life grind it from _those_ eyes like a struggling little ant.

He fights as he always fought- instinctively- eyes taking every position into account, tracking his prey with practiced ease. The Grimm growled, circling. He chops them almost as ruthlessly as the girl does. Surprisingly, she moved steadily with the practiced, calculated ease of someone who sees it all as a game to be won. Move this one over there, line up the shot just so, use the recoil of this strike against the next. Howls of pain echoed as she moved.

Qrow grins before snapping back to focus on his own survival. She wasn't half bad, if a little uncertain about synchronized fighting with someone new. If life gave her another ten years, she could be another Summer or Raven.

But only _if_.

The thought was sobering even after a swig of the silver flask in his left pocket.

 _Jimmy always had an eye for the best fighters, even for desperate situations._

They would have to defend this piece of land and its fledgling hospital until reinforcements could be spared. In military terms, _when_ that would be was "classified." That had a distinct ring of "probably never-" or worse, "too fucking late to matter-" which was why Summer signed STRQ up for this rescue/suicide mission in the first place...instead of the thirty-some other ones that had clearly scheduled dates for reinforcements. Jimmy apparently shared Qrow's horror at sending teams to an almost certain death; hence the reinforcements. Four barely trained graduates- led by the girl with the blue eyes- who volunteered for the same reason Summer did.

Except those four weren't nearly seasoned enough or even fucking prepared for this kind of chaos. Who the hell sends kids to fight hordes of monsters for their first job? Beginning missions are just that- for _beginners_. They were supposed to be _easy_. Those new military issue boots should have been off patrolling some well-defended castle or securing transport in some cushy airship sponsored by some rich asshole with too much money and not enough sense. Not whatever the fresh hell _this_ was.

Yet here they were, boots pounding on snow and metal boring through flesh.

And for _what_ , exactly?

The villagers who were able to flee the incoming invasion were already long gone, hiding in makeshift mountain caves that would have to be secured once there was a home to return to. The ones who couldn't escape from this deathtrap of terrain and weather- the sick, the elderly, and orphaned children- remained barricaded in the center of town, inside the only semi-sterile clinic in the region. There had been other clinics, once, and other towns, too, here, but in this part of the world Grimm have always favored stationary targets. They could save this village this one time, only to witness life burn it to smoldering ash as soon as they leave.

Unless, of course, they decide to stay. That was always a possible, if unlikely option. There would always be another village just like this, maybe with even bleaker odds. But there was plenty of land here, more than enough for a house, a family, a whole score of things Qrow never imagined he would ever have.

Still, a village to save is a village to save, and Qrow wasn't about to let the Grimm have the people in this one. Not if they have to pry it from his cold, emotionless grasp. At least the new kids are motivated. Wouldn't do for Summer, Raven, and Tai (come to think of it, just Summer, because he sure as hell wasn't qualified to enthuse a rock) to have pep talk them, too. Together, they fight with the desperation of people knowing the end teetered on the edge of fading into silence forever.

The first day is cold with the bite of steel against monsters. The second day is warmer, the heat of battle seeping through the pink-tinged snow below. The third day is hot, molten lava carving crimson rivulets in the ground. The fourth day is electric. The Grimm still leak through the cracks in their defenses, but fewer and less ferocious than before, until the fifth day when all is silent save the relieved weeping of the villagers staggering back. Not much of the town is left, but, then, not much of the horde of invaders is left, either.

Qrow notices that those eyes look like they're dancing the first day. She's also wearing some impractical bun and bangs situation, a remnant of her academic career. By the second all the hair is messy, scattered, and by the third she's taken a nasty gash decapitating a Nevermore in a rash and gutsy move. By the fourth day she's staggering and, by the fifth day, he has to carve through about a dozen Beowolves to drag her unconscious form back behind their fortifications.

He orders the ragtag band of survivors- _more_ fucking kids; why the hell didn't more of them _run_ like they were fucking supposed to?!- to put her a bed before rushing back to the field. There were no beds to spare; no sheets, blankets, or bandages, either. So he rounds up some desks and chairs and wraps her in his cloak. Behind her, there are three sheet-covered shapes that made him roar as he launched himself anew at a Beowolf-

- _Fucking fuckery of FUCKS_ -

- _there is more than blood spraying through the air_ -

-he's surprised by the tiny, cylindrical icicles crystallizing on his face.

Eventually- he doesn't really register _when_ anymore- help arrives, though not nearly soon enough and too fucking late to matter, like always. Some new prototype of fighting robots, arriving just too late for the heat of the battle. The dirty, grime-colored villagers' sounds of joy were drowned by more inhuman howls of pain, until suddenly there was no more sound, just the faint rustling of wind scattering ashes through the slate colored snow.

It's oddly and unnaturally quiet when the robots finish sweeping the field of fur and feathers.

Qrow shakes his head as he took stock of the damage.

Blood, ashes, and splinters everywhere.

Then came the rebuiling. Always a somber process. The charred remains of what was burned well into the night, but the memory of what once was would always stay. The work itself is slow as well as repetitious. Soot, ashes, soot, and more ashes. The breeze blows and everything is coated a fine mist of gray. Qrow lost track of how many trees he chopped, or how many doors he righted. At least the _clang-clang-clang_ of scythe against trees was welcome comparable do to the anguished screams ripping through the air a few days ago.

All too soon the sound of work faded, too, leaving only the rustling of dead leaves and knotted branches upon marbled pink ground.

It was the silence that he couldn't bear.

Raven was silent because she chose to be. Taiyang could be silent when the occasional warranted it. Summer was silent because not even she had anything to say to the girl who didn't look old enough to drink but was somehow old enough to become a team of one in a week. Jimmy's pride and joy, the four elite of the elite- the Special Operatives- not so special anymore, drained of aura and barely recognizable. Three families would have to be notified; arrangements would be made; memorials held.

The only one who survived in mostly one piece was now inside said hospital, unconscious. He had carried her in after peeling a particularly persistent Beowolf and part of what used to be a wall or a door or maybe even a chimney. It seemed very wrong that someone who moved so gracefully would be laying so still. _No_ , _fuckin' unnatural 's what **that** is._ Worse still that someone who obviously cared so much would have to carry the burden of this mission on every one thereafter. Worst of all was the crumbling of her face when she did awake and the news of her teammates reached sunk in. He breaks it personally with the gentleness of trying to catching a child's falling heart.

She was silent for a moment. Those eyes took on a slate gray for a moment as moisture crystallized into a translucent film. She coughed- smearing blood- and uses his torso to pull herself up.

"They died as heroes. We must remember them like they would have remembered us."

How the _hell_ could she still _believe_ after all that? That Beowolf must have done more damage than what the doctors all said.

Concerned, he finds himself by her bedside more often than strictly necessary. He tells himself it's because she's just lost all three of her teammates. Someone like that needs another person, however cynical, to lean on. After all, one somewhat familiar face was better than a barrage of strange ones. Especially when the fact that the world is a fucking cruel place was going to fuck all that idealism up. _Damn_ him if he wasn't there to at least give her the option of seeing that it doesn't all _end_ after you stop believing.

But, inexplicably, the coldness of the world never sinks in, even as the parents and relatives of her teammates come to gather their loved ones. She's still weak, staggering on multiple fractures and barely upright, yet she leans on him and notes in the same, clear voice that that her teammates- her _friends, her extended family_ \- were heroes who loved their families and land so much they died for them. Remember them for that, she declared, pressing each hand towards her heart. She will keep fighting _their_ fight until her very last breath because that's what they deserve.

Qrow gapes. It's fucking unnatural that she's still as wide-eyed and optimistic as before, but maybe the homemade alcohol finally did its job. He insists that she use his weapon as a makeshift cane for now because her sword had been broken in two. (Who's ever heard of using a damn sword to walk anyways? A scythe was _obviously_ much more practical.) It wasn't as if there were more trees to chop, y'know? Summer, Raven, and Tai exchange _looks_ as the kid limps, falters, then begins dragging the blade across the stone floor in a broken, if determined set of hops and falls.

They don't say anything, though. Qrow thinks he's never seen his teammates so fascinated by someone, like so many children with bandages and casts anxiously waiting for a turn to treat a bird with a broken wing.

Finally Qrow says something, if only to break the silence." 'S not how a scythe works, kiddo."

Said kid blinks apologetically, then looks down, startled by the crater she just smashed near the foot of the bed. "I...I'm sorry. I just...need-" with a clang, she tugs the blade free from the concrete, inspecting the dent in the blade, "I'll... I'll fix it for you when I'm better." A hopeful smile made his thoughts tumble for a moment.

"Naw. Keep it, kid. You should smile more often, you know. We could use that around here." He, too, is surprised by how gentle his voice sounds.

That _grin_ again-

A few days of helping her walk later- without the scythe, this time, she suddenly stops, pivots, and lands directly on his waiting chest. "I'm not a kid anymore, y'know?" She doesn't let go, though, and he wraps himself around her frame with a soft but resigned "I _know_ , kiddo." The hand that had been behind his left should curled understandingly. He relishes the unexpected warmth in and against his chest.

"Come on, old man, _smile_ a little."

It's not even that funny, but he feels the curl of her smile against his torso and that makes him laugh. He stops thinking for a moment. Was that what life could be, if she smiled like that every day? Would that make him smile more? Fuck damn it probably would, come to think of it.

He continues to help her walk. She's getting stronger, but, somehow, whenever he's around, she's always falling into the arms he could never just keep by his side while she's tottering like a drunkard around the room. "It's _you_ ," she giggles as he rolls his eyes and takes another swig.

The dreams that haunt him now are no longer dark and desperate. They're bright and bursting with color. Blue with a hint of steel gray touched by silvery white bangs.

They could stay here. She could take his name and they would have two, maybe even thr-

He stops himself with a resounding thwack of skin against bone.

His name?

 _His name?_

Was he fucking _insane_? What an absolutely sentimental, idealistic _fool_ he was. Who the hell did he think he _was_ , trying to play house in his head with someone whose father would made more in a second than he ever made in his lifetime. What on Remant would she possibly see in him that she doesn't see in every prancing peacock-esque asshole who brought flowers, chocolates, and cards that lined up around the village for her? All of those rich jerks looked like they've never been outside some fancy ass equestrian club, let alone this Dust forsaken corner of the world. None of them had hands that were calloused from work, either. One douchebag even brought a monogrammed handkerchief to delicately wave the remaining specks of ash from his oily, swarmy face.

 _Fucking pathetic_.

And she could come to love any one of them, judging by how kindly she smiled at all of them.

It was only later, after months spent surrpetiously memorizing her expressions, that Qrow realized those smiles were notions of formality ingrained by years of etiquette training. Her real smile brought sprinkles of silver into her eyes and little crinkles at the corners. When she smiled- really _smiled_ \- all that he thought he would ever want seemed within reach. That smile made his knees go weak and the stars align and all of that other romantic bullshit he expected from other, less bitter people, not himself.

Love was cruel to cynics, too, tearing through all of his carefully constructed defenses. It wasn't logical, nor was it fair. Someone with a first name like that should have been cold. Cruel, even, freezing over such sentimental attachments like embers of a dying flame. Someone with a last name like that meant a life of privilege behind closed doors and syncopated parties. Yet the Winter Schnee using his strength to walk around the hospital (he tells himself this is much more practical than letting her ruin his weapon) was as warm as can be, radiating so much compassion, grief, and determination that _he_ struggled to stand after the last of her teammates' families left and she was alone once more.

He tried to tell himself that everyone ends up crying and alone in the end, but his feet always brought him to her side. The tears never fell when there were guests, not even when the rest of his teammates; but, somehow, she never felt the need to hide them from him.

Even so, _her_ father never showed despite orchestrating the seemingly endless parade of suitors with rings to "rescue" her. All of those fools pissed Qrow off to no end. She could take care of herself and, besides, none of them ever seemed remotely worthy of her. _Fuck_ Father Dearest who thought well enough of them to represent imitations of people with actual feelings. Winter's exterior may have been tough, but she bled like everyone else, especially when Jimmy brought news that her father was busy overseeing company business elsewhere but "will have **choice** words" about her choice of pretty much everything when the mergers and acquisitions were complete.

And here Qrow thought _he_ took the grand prize for being an emotionless and heartless bastard.

Perhaps, in that rare moment of silent understanding, he saw that Winter bled _more_ than everyone else and never showed it. She always charged first, never even looking to see if he would follow, never really expecting him to, either. Grimm fell in swatches. More came, of course, but for a moment the future spun on the tip of a Dust-infused sword. She fought until all of her aura was gone, taking several nasty gashes before he managed to cut a path back to their defensive fortifications. That wasn't a very cold thing to do at all, and it was most certainly not a Schnee kind of thing to do, judging by the slightly disappointed faces of the men (and women) who left with their gifts intact.

If Qrow was a gambling man, he would say those were very Branwen-like things to do.

They circled each other in silence as the days that followed. _This_ silence was fascinating and electric. He hovered, curious and anticipatory, watching her breathing became more even, less erratic, calming a heart-shaped face that now had a healthy cast of peach. He let her keep his weapon for self-defense even though the blade was still dented, even helping her walk short laps around the bed. It wasn't as if he had nothing else to do, especially after Summer, Tai, and Raven left for new missions. Something about Winter kept him coming back, entranced like a child at the candy store, forever dazzled by every glint of light pouring through the window. Her eyes began to sparkle when he came to visit and he told himself he did it out of compassion for the wide-eyed kid he used to be.

Qrow tells himself it's better than letting her cry alone and he knows he's lying. _This_ was much more than a simple attempt to preserve the hope and innocence that still blossomed in the the most secretive parts of his heart. Winter's presence was addictive, like a rain dusted day with a favorite book along an ash-soaked fire with an old, familiar record and an aged whiskey. The burnt, golden-brown kind that sparkled with warmth and color. Her voice began to follow him in his dreams. Stand up straight. Don't slouch. Smile a little more, _old man_.

Which he does, surprisingly, because it makes her and the village orphans who took to congregating by her side smile.

"Still not old, kiddo," he would say, and she would laugh and ruffle his hair as he helped brush the tangles from hers. He could be an old man if she could be kiddo every once a while.

The earth outside seemed to come alive when they walked through the village arm in arm. "Princess Winter!" The children would cry, and the sight of her kneeling over a crowd of giggling kids made his heart twitch. He stops just sort of having the children crown him Prince Qrow, though she doesn't say a word, just stroking the stubble on his cheek when the children weren't looking.

Spring came to the mountainside with a rush of flowers. Somehow Qrow found himself picking them for the vase (made by one of the children, of course) she kept by the side of the bed. He gives her his cloak; it's still chilly, and it wouldn't do for her to freeze when she's barely recovered. She laughs and throws something pink and yellow and green at his chest. "Now who's sentimental, kiddo?"

That _feeling_ of color faded when, as promised, her father arrived with Ironwood's next contingency of security robots.

From the name, Qrow had expected someone bigger, meaner, colder, yet Father Schnee was neither big nor mean. He was, however, everything Qrow expected Winter to be, but was not. Father Schnee was cold to the core, plus arrogant in an expectation that excluded protest and sentimentality. He had expected _this_ \- being confined to a dingy hospital bed with Qrow's cloak for a makeshift blanket, because she insisted that the injured villagers take the actual linens- from the moment she joined the military. That Ironwood _fool_ was obviously unqualified to train soldiers for battle, let alone send a _Schnee_ into battle. What Winter needed to do was to return home immediately. Give up this foolish dream of becoming a Huntress. _Schnees_ do not die early, and they most certainly do not court death like a debutante at the ball out in some field in the middle of nowhere. _Schnees_ live to be old and jolly in their mansions like they are supposed to. Her place is by him, by her sister, by her name, by any of the nicely bland young men who wanted her for that name and company it represented.

(Qrow thinks it's lucky Jimmy has such a thick skull; otherwise he would gotten the fuck out of there with less than all of his precious robots intact.)

Father Schnee is fuming when he finishes the diatribe. There's an airship waiting outside, with seating for one. He demands that Winter come to her senses and go back to where she belongs.

Qrow feels the world slip as a second, then two, passed in silence. To his surprise, Winter reached over and clasped his hand, pulling herself as tall as she could. "My place is here, Father, fighting alongside the people I care about for the world I care about."

And Father Schnee finally sees what Qrow has seen all this time- that Winter's as warm as can be, fire and determination blazing through her face. No longer a child, certainly, and no longer an heiress, either. The elder Schnee explodes, but Winter continued to shake her head no.

She doesn't cry, either, as Father stomps angrily out of the room, out the half-hung door, and out of her life. Only when the click of boots fade to whispered silence does she turn her face into his cloak and in his chest.

" _Stay_ , Winter." The rasp of his voice startles her, but she only pulls him closer. " _Stay_ with me, please."

The look in her eyes would forever haunt him. The love, the despair, and, overwhelming them both, the optimism. "This is war, Qrow. Fight with me, and we will build a home here when it's done."

And like the fucking idealistic, sentimental _fool_ he is, Qrow promises to wait with her until his very last breath.

...

Something about these two...

 _Gah_. The feels.

Soundtrack: "Keep On Tryin' " by Poco

(And, as suggested by NinaVale- "Sadness and Sorrow" by The Forest Elves)


End file.
